


Thrown

by Fiercest



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Ichigo has a cowboy kink apparently, PWP, Smut, alternate title: save a horse ride a shinigami, because i'm trash, but literally tho, ride or die - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 22:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiercest/pseuds/Fiercest
Summary: Ichigo takes Rukia to a themed bar and can't decide if he regrets it.





	Thrown

Not so long ago, Ichigo took Rukia to a bar.  
  
It was Western themed. Twinkle lights lined the shelves, the proprietor clearly felt that empty liquor bottles were appropriate décor, framed photos of cowboys hung on the walls. And a mechanical bull stood, literally, center ring.  
  
A large man (a foreigner, potentially an American seeking familiarity) was being whipped around, thrown this way and that. A crowd had gathered and was loudly counting the seconds until he was thrown.  
  
At 23 seconds, the man went flying into the cushioned mat surrounding the automated beast.  
  
Rukia immediately decided that she had to ride it. And like the prim and proper princess she was, she daintily removed her shoes, strode past the line and leapt onto the bull’s back. She grabbed the bull by the horn with one hand and lifted the other in the air to wave at him. Ichigo wished he could disappear into the crowd and leave her there.  
  
She smiled with all her teeth at the operator and gestured for him to begin. Baffled, he flipped a switch and turned a key.  
  
The bull began to rock back and forth, slowly at first. Then faster.  
  
Rukia was a warrior, more than that, she was a dancer. She had no trouble keeping her hips in time with the great metal contraption between her legs. Legs, which he could see quite a lot of, suddenly. She’d rucked up her skirt to sit more comfortably. Ichigo followed the elegant line of her leg up to her hips, which rocked and ground in time to an unheard beat. They compensated for the bucking and spinning. Her thighs clenched tight, bracketing the beast.  
  
Ichigo had never wanted to be a piece of machinery so badly, nor to be anywhere in the world except a terrible, tacky dive bar.  
  
He deeply regretted his clothing choices for the evening.  
  
The crowd had counted up to a minute and a half by the time Rukia seemed to grow bored. She gracefully stood up on the plastic head and with a hop, alighted on the mat with nary a bounce.  
  
“Ichigo, you should try this thing!”  
  
Maybe not the best idea, right that second.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
He’d like to pretend he doesn’t know why he thinks of that now, but Rukia has placed herself quite comfortably in his lap and has set about exploring the exact texture of his neck. She’s become quite the connoisseur of his noises, a master composer playing a concerto with his moans.  
  
Rukia imperiously declares herself queen of all she surveys, without having to say a word. She just is. Touching her is like touching a live wire, she burns and shocks him. She’s unpredictable. The biting pain he feels in his heart, in his toes. He breathes her in and the pain worsens so sweet.  
  
He reflexively bucks beneath her and she rides it out. Her fingers rake against his jeans and ground him in the here and now. “Off,” he grunts in the gasp between kisses, but she sets upon him again, fiercely pressing her lips to his and devouring him.  
  
She feels like a storm made flesh and smells like sweat and clean laundry. He licks a line up her sternum and learns that she tastes the same. Her fingers tilt his chin inexorably upward so she can capture his lips again. Her thighs form a vice around his waist and her hands find his pectorals and give his nipples a tweak.  
  
“Ah!” his complaints are swallowed, but he persists. “Get off.”  
  
“Now?” she pouts but retreats. He takes the opportunity to roll her onto her back and press her body into the mattress. She smiles up at him, sweetly. For a moment he takes her in, eyes sparkling, hair splayed every which way.  
  
Her eyebrow cocks up in challenge. “Lose your nerve?”  
  
“Shut up.” Ichigo shucks his jeans and releases some pressure. Not for the first time he realizes that he’s let himself be more vulnerable than he’s ever been in front of anyone else.  
  
Rukia, who is stretching and arching her back like a cat, is still in a bra and skirt. Reciprocity demands he amend that.  
  
He returns to bed and his hand begins a steady climb up her thigh, into the charted but still mysterious territory under the blue fabric.  
  
She cannot abide the distance and reaches up to yank him down to her. He kisses a winding path down her chest, between the hard lines of her abs to the soft skin between her hips. He drags the waistband of the skirt down with his teeth. She arches off the bed in impatience. This will take forever if she does not take charge.  
  
She’s learned that he likes to torture her and is never in as much of a rush as he should be.  
  
Rukia removes her own bra (because of course she does) and throws it across the room. She shoots Ichigo a challenging look and he can’t help but roll his eyes and fall even deeper in lust and love with this wretched twerp.  
  
She bites his lip when he kisses her next, as if to hammer home this point.

He traces circles around her nipples with the pads of calloused thumbs. She shudders beneath him and makes his favourite sound: a throaty cross between a gasp and a moan.

Her hands trail down his back and grab two handfuls of his buttcheeks. Blunt nails dig into flesh. He flexes against her and gasps in pleasure.

She reaches for him but he dives, bringing his face back home to the cradle of her hips. He sucks, bites and soothes marks into her skin, purple proof of the dirty deeds he’d fantasized about all day.

“You’re belabouring the poi-AAAAIIIEEE!” she cries out as his tongue darts out and licks a stripe up her swollen, aching center. He smirks into her thigh and hoists a leg over each shoulder. He then works his hands under her ass and lifts her to meet his mouth.

Her shout turns into moans and breathy sighs. She grabs hold of his hair, holding fast as he helps her ascend.

Every muscle in her body contracts at once and the wave crests, he continues his industrious work through the full body shudder that follows.

Ichigo crawls up her body with a grin on his face. She tells him he looks ghastly, but it doesn’t abate. If anything, his smile becomes more sincere.

In a flash, she has him on his back. “What should I do with you?” She whispers, all bedroom eyes and dirty promises.

“You. Wait, no, that joke doesn’t work here. I can do better, hold on.” He laughs at himself but it turns to a groan as she settles herself over his erection. She slides over it, coating him in her slick wetness.

“Your smart mouth’s been put to enough use today. Time to be quiet.”

“Or what?”

She smiles pleasantly and completely removes herself from his person, which is completely unacceptable.

He protests vehemently.

“Occupy yourself another way.”

“You greedy little-! What the hell else do you want me to-”

She sheathes herself on his length in one swift move. It leaves him cross-eyed.

As she starts to move, Ichigo is again reminded of the mechanical bull. She swivels and tilts her hips in time with her steed. He jolts up and bucks beneath her and she handles it like a pro. She handles him in times like this, the way she does in all aspects of their life together: with the full understanding of what he is capable of and a keen ability to bring whatever she likes out in him.

She rides him to orgasm and then a little longer still, rolling along with the aftershocks.

Together, they breathe.

Ichigo brings his knees up and Rukia leans back against them, comfortable.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Depends, are you asking me on a date, or to do your paperwork for you?”

“Fine,” she says, sounding far too prim considering that he’s still inside her. “Never mind.”

She pulls away and they both groan at the friction and lost contact.

“Stop being a pain, no I’m not busy.”

He is, but he’ll make time.

“We could go back to that American bar? I want to ride the bull again, maybe you could even take a turn.”

It takes him a second to realize that she’s kidding. He grabs her around the waist and yanks her close. Fingers dig into her ribs. “I’ll _give you_ a ride, you gremlin!”

Between snorts, “I thought you just did.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first time I've ever written smut, so I'd appreciate feedback!
> 
> You can find me as @fiercyy on tumblr!


End file.
